Captured
by OnyxV
Summary: A/U takes place after the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort has defeated Harry Potter and to establish the new hierarchy, he auctions off all of the Muggleborns and blood traitors to his loyal followers. Draco is just trying to stay alive in this new world. What happens when the Dark Lord insists he take in Hermione Granger as his slave. DARK THEMES BEWARE! DM/HG pairing eventually


A/N: Follows original cannon up until 7th year. Voldemort has won, all Muggle born wizards and witches have been put into a slave auction and sold to the highest bidder. Hermione and Draco- I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS or HARRY POTTER.

Chapter 1: The Auction

The "pure world." That's what _"_his Lord" was calling it. His Lord_,_ as in the Dark Lord, also known as Lord Voldemort, also known as the Man-Who-Let-The-Boy-Live-In-The-First-Place. The Battle of Hogwarts had gone as planned, with the "Chosen One's" demise. 

Hah! As if Voldemort wouldn't have predicted that Harry Potter would give himself up for his friends and loved ones. No one saw that coming but every other Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw alike. Honestly though, who in their right mind is _that _stupid?! Seriously, Potter, did you think Voldemort was inviting you for tea?

Sighing, his thoughts shifted. He had to get out of bed. Today was the "bid day." The Dark Lordwould be summoning all of his followers at any moment. Post war Malfoy status; lap dog.

Grabbing his wand and casting a quick _Scourgify _to his clothes, the same clothes he wore and slept in the day and night before, he got ready for the day. There really wasn't any reason to shower or concern himself with hygiene. He'd be covered head to toe in blood by the end of the day following "his Lord's" commands.

He had been dreading today since they'd won the war a month ago. A month was all it took for the 4 teams of Death Eaters to herd and capture all the Mudbloods and traitors into confinement. Confinement was the cozy part for the prisoners. Now came the true punishment. Enslavement. Each one was to be sold off to the highest bidder. The winning bidder could do whatever they'd like with their new property. Cook, clean, rape, torture for fun, etc. Any person that had defied the new ruler lost any rights to their past lives and their magic when the Dark Lord _Avada'd_ the Potty.

Glancing quickly in the mirror to check his appearance out of habit, he barely recognized the figure glaring back. He couldn't help but mourn his former appearance. Gone were the sleek platinum locks that embodied a Malfoy heir. His chin length hair was a stringy mess, giving the former Potter a run for his galleons in the unruly department. The platinum shine had dulled, left in its wake dull strawberry flaxen streaks. Apparently once magical blood saturates, it becomes incredibly difficult to wash out.

Gone was the flawless complexion of an aristocrat's son. His face was sullen and gaunt, composed of blemishes and blackheads repopulating the surface. The infamous Malfoy sneer was non-existent and, in its stead, a hard line that was carved from obedience and self-preservation.

Breaking his trance, the warm burning feeling began to tingle his left forearm. The calling. He stared with distaste as the hideous snake began to slither on his arm. How he hated the mark, the blemish upon his perfect skin. It was a constant reminder of how far the Malfoy line had fallen.

Sighing for a second time that day, Draco Malfoy reluctantly left the safety of his miniscule room and took towards the Manor's fireplace. His current space used to inhabit the house-elves of the Manor. In addition to the numerous sessions of torture inflicted on his person, after his failure to kill Dumbledore, Draco lost access to his suite of rooms. Something about learning humility.

Seeing the fireplace in front of him, his course of action for the day took root. If he was lucky, he could blend into the crowd and stay out of the Dark Lord's sights. Who was he kidding? He was the poster boy for bad luck, but it was worth a try. He could wait for his parents and travel together… but, he quickly eradicated the idea. Walking in with them would goad the attention he so desperately sought to flee. Voldemort couldn't resist showing off his new "lap dogs'" tricks, sadly his mother included. Besides, he hadn't seen his mother much lately, and was loathe to make pointless chit chat with his father until her arrival.

Lucius Malfoy, now that was a train of thought he would rather ponder for another day. His formarm began to grow unbearably hot and he knew he had to hurry. His new Lord was not patient.

Throwing the Floo powder down quickly, Draco called out, "Hogwarts!" The rushing sensation taking hold of his body. The Dark Lord had a sick sense of humor, Hogwarts, the one place those on Dumbledore's side felt safe. Sadly, all in attendance would never remember Hogwarts the same again. The dark castle hadn't been a safe haven to him in a very long time. In truth, the concept of "safe" was a fantasy.

He intentionally took the route furthest from the Astronomy Tower towards the Mess Hall. At half past 10, it was already overflowing with other Death Eaters and their families. Some looked giddy, almost bursting with delight. Others mirrored his nausea at the idea of bidding on previous classmates or acquaintances. He knew in his younger days that he was extremely unforgiving of another's blood. Due to his upbringing, he truly thought his blood and status was supreme. The Battle of Hogwarts exterminated his previous way of thinking. No matter the blood status, blood was blood. It was all the same, deep red with an overwhelming metallic smell that made his stomach queasy on the best days. His blood was no different than a Muglleborn's. In fact, he's pretty sure only a few decades ago, incest ran rampant in the Malfoy family and many of the Sacred 28. Definitely not helping with the debate.

Making his way to the back covertly, he purposely ignored his betrothed, Astoria Greengrass. Though beautiful, her shrill voice could silence a baby Mandrake. He didn't have time for her petty gossip or talk of future wedding plans. He didn't even know if he'd be alive by nightfall let alone in 2 years. The Malfoys were on thin ice. Although, she would help their image. Narcissa and Lucius were sure. She was the perfect pureblood's wife through and through. Her family were very loyal followers, never quite in the Dark Lord's inner circle, but in a way that was smart of them, they stayed under the radar. Astoria was practically bouncing in anticipation. Don't misunderstand, Draco was by no means a Hufflepuff, but more and more lately he couldn't rationalize the difference between his former classmates and himself. For Merlin's sake the crazed lunatic now ruling the wizarding world was a half-blood.

Just as it looked as though Astoria was about to spot him, an abrupt silence descended on the room causing heads to turn in haste. The Dark Lord approached down the middle of the banquet hall, loyal followers parting and bowing at his approach. Not far behind frolicked his deranged Aunt, blissfully dancing to a tune no one else could hear. Ah. The wonders of incest.

Lord Voldemort glided behind the long table and took the chair formerly reserved for the Headmaster with Auntie Bella taking the seat to his immediate right, expectantly. The Dark Lord's grin, if you could call it that, slowly spread with his eyes alight in eagerness of the events to come. The Dark Lord lifted his new wand, Potter's old, to his throat but stopped, he didn't need to amplifly his voice, the hall was so quiet you could hear a snitch's wings fluttering.

"My loyal followers, for so long these mudbloods have enjoyed the fruits of our labor, our magic, tainting our world with their blood. Now we can finally return to the original hierarchy, and put these slaves in their place. Judgement day is here." he hissed. His smirk grew as other Death Eaters opened the door adjacent to the high table. The first item up for sale was a small chap that Draco recognized, maybe a year or two younger than himself. Though he couldn't be sure, the bloke he presumed this to be, always had a Muggle device plastered to his face. Probably a Potter fan, he thought with an eye roll.

As was standard for these auctions the bloke was under a binding spell. Only his eyes could move and from the darted movements, he looked terrified of his inevitable fate. His body was extremely emaciated and starved. His skin had a yellow sickly sheen to it, displaying late stages of the Muggle illness, jaundice. His clothes were in tatters. Probably the same clothing he had been wearing when the war was won. Dried blood was crusted to his forehead and arms, and to Draco's horror, between his legs.

A plump squat, pink figure resembling a toad took the stage. The clear grating voice of Delores Umbridge could be heard over the excited yells of premature bids. Draco heard from the younger Nott that it took a few weeks to recover her from the centaurs. Too bad they hadn't killed her before then. She was insufferable.

"We'll start the bidding for Colin Creevey, age 17, Muggleborn wizard at 50 sickles! I will also add that Mr. Creevey here is a huge Potter fan!" Rebuttals and all sorts of expletives were heard with that declaration.

"50 here!"

"65 here!"

"100 here!"

"150 here!"

"I hear 150 going once. Twice. Sold to Mr. Theodore Nott Sr. for 150 sickles, congratulations!" Umbridges' oily voice cooed from the stage. "You can retain your prize after the auction commences and your sum has been paid in full."

Mr. Nott Sr. laughed, as if he couldn't pay the sum of 150 sickles. Trouser change. Even though it was a small price, the crowd seemed intent on saving their purses for other items yet to be announced.

It was well known Mr. Nott Sr. had a fetish for young boys. Just ask Theo, his son. Merlin knows Theo is still excessively indulging in potions to forget his childhood. He truly felt sorry for the Mudblood, Peevey or whatever his name was. He'd be lucky if he lasted the night.

The biddings continued long into the afternoon. Most of the prisoners were classmates of his. Thankfully none he remembered well or had any memorable encounters with. He didn't know if he could stomach watching someone he knew on the platform. Ignorance was bliss. With that new wave of thoughts, he pondered if he could leave early to save himself the horror of recognizing someone up for bid. Cowardly thought, sure, but he could live with it.

"The next item up for bid, is a very special one." Umbridge's voice filtered through the room. Engaging all occupants. "Though I must say, I believe the Dark Lord is being overly generous by not killing her. Next up, pureblood traitor, age 16, Ginerva Weasley. Last of her line."

Unfortunately, Draco was there to witness that terrible day. Though he never cared for any of the red headed impoverished weasels. The Dark Lord spared the youngest. She was a pureblood witch after all and they were a dying breed. The rest of the Weasleys were tortured mercilessly by his devoted Auntie Bella. She reveled in it. It was pure heavenly delight for her. He sometimes wondered what his grandparents did for her to end up that way. Bad levitating spell gone wrong thus dropping her down a case of stairs? Perhaps. The Weasley mother and father were _imperiused,_ by Auntie Bella, to torture their own children. The body can only convulse for so long until it stops responding and the mind gives up. Give or take 10 hours of torture for each boy. Once they were as lucid as LongBottoms' parents, Auntie Bella began her torture of the maternal and paternal Weasley. The Weaslette was forced to watch all of it from the sidelines under an _Imperious, _she couldn't close her eyes if she wanted to. After what felt like an eternity, they were all, save the Weaslette, _Avada Kedavra'd._

The youngest Weasley looked feral even with the binding curse. She was staring rebelliously, refusing to shed any tears. Same as all the other prisoners, she was drenched in blood highlighting her pale features even more than before. Bite marks decorated her pale pink blood-spattered skin accompanied by long scratches that carried through her torn, shredded clothing. She resembled a character he once had the misfortune of seeing in a muggle movie. Mary, Sherry, Carrie, something like that. As young boys 12-14, muggle things were like contraband in their homes, little boys can't help but be a little naughty.

The end of the sale broke him out his thoughts.

"100,000 Galleons going once. Twice. Sold to Narcissa Malfoy."

WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL?! What was his mother doing?! The crowd died down at the conclusion of the sale. Why the hell would his mother buy the Weaslelette? It made no sense. They could barely take care of themselves, they didn't need a slave, too! Draco began to slide further towards the back of the crowd. Hopefully, he could leave before anyone else and allude the Dark Lord's presence once the auction was over.

"The last up for bid, is a VERY VERY special one. I can't stress this enough. For those of you that having been saving your purses, you won't be disappointed. This one is so special I thought to bid on her myself. That is, if my Lord approves?" Voldemort gave a slight incline of his head, thus granting his permission.

Giggling with glee, Umbridge announced the next prisoner," our final item of the day, the grand finale." Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes at her theatrics. He could practically hear the drums in anticipation.

"Our last and final item is _The Mudblood _that almost caused the downfall of our Lord. _The Mudblood_ annoyingly defied every rule I inflicted at Hogwarts. She is the worst of the worst and needs to be punished severely for her misdeeds. For such an occasion, I have my favorite quill ready and" - she was interrupted by a hiss from Voldemort. "My apologies, I got ahead of myself. The next item up for bid is, Hermoine Granger, age 17, Mudblood witch. One-Third of _the_ Golden Trio"

Draco's blood ran cold. It was rumored she was hit with an _Avada Kedavra,_ compliments of his dear aunt, trying to save Potter at the end. Many of the other light side supporters died this way, he didn't think it to be a farfetched rumor. He and Granger weren't friends by any means but even he knew that her personal enslavement would be worse than death, and it didn't matter who won the bidding. A roar followed Umbridge's words, in fact it looked like being present had an idea of how to punish her for her crimes.

Hermoine had little to zero clothing covering her grime and blood-soaked skin. The clothing she did have on was worst than rags, it hung off her thin, malnourished frame in scraps. Her fiery, brown eyes that had alighted during every argument were the same, glaring defiantly at the crowd. Her long bushy russet hair hung in clumps down her back, looking as if it had been ripped out of her skull. Leaving him to wonder briefly where they were keeping these prisoners, as they all looked like they were soaked in a pool of blood for days. Surely that couldn't all be hers.

Ever since her abrupt departure from the Manor, he woke to her screams every night, those eyes pleading with him to intervene. Since her torture, he found he couldn't even walk past the Drawing Room without reliving that awful memory. Truth be told, he felt an immense guilt whenever he thought of her and here she was, alive in the flesh, or what was left of her. This wasn't the world of glory his father had reminisced about during his childhood. This was genocide, in its most basic form.

Granger was not held captive like the previous prisoners up for bid, as she was not imprisoned by a binding spell. He wouldn't put it past her to have mastered wandless magic and keep reversing the spell. Instead, she was escorted by 3 Death Eaters, one must have cast a levitating spell, as she didn't look well enough to walk. A large collar with long, sharp spikes was imbedded into her neck. Draco had seen the medieval device before, it suppressed wandless magic. It closely resembled something a wizard would use for training a pet. His father used to have one very similar until the Ministry raided the Manor after his 5th year, as was a condition of Lucius' sentence. The more Granger tried to use magic, the stronger the choke on the collar. She must have been trying to break the collar for some time, as her neck was straining to swallow.

"I'll start the bidding at 10,000 Galleons!"

"20,000 Galleons here!"

"50,000!"

"100,000 Even!"

"150,000 Galleons!"

"250,000 for the bitch, well worth it!"

"450,000!"

"500,000!"

"600,000 here!"

"I bid 750,000!"

"800,000!"

"900,000!"

It didn't look like they were ever going to stop bidding. Hermoine was straining in her collar, glaring murderously at Voldemort. He in turn glowered blankly in return.

"Enough." Hissed Lord Voldemort. Tsking Voldemort stood from his chair, his eyes searching for something in the crowd. Or someone. "Clearly this is unfair. Let's have a little fun with the Mudblood shall we? Hermoine Granger is too special to go to just anyone. Where is my pet? Come out, come out, wherever you are, Draco."

He directed his gaze towards Draco. He could feel his blood turn to ice as the raspy voice sent shivers up his skin. Shit! This was not good. Quickly composing his face into a mask of indifference, Draco slid out from behind the tall bloke in front of him.

Swallowing quickly so his voice didn't tremble, he spoke with complete conviction. "Here my Lord. How may I assist?"

Smirking like a sneazle that captured his long-awaited prey, Voldemort commanded him up on stage with the flex of his claw. Painstakingly ignoring the sensation to seek out his mother, Draco strutted to the stage with more confidence than he felt, his grey eyes never leaving the Dark Lord's.

"Ah Draco, Draco, Draco. Are you enjoying the day's festivities thus far?" Panic engulfed Draco, the implication was not lost on him, he did something wrong. He nodded his head in confirmation hoping to appease the Dark Lord's curiosity. "I've not seen nor heard you bid on any of the delightful items today, are they not to your standards?"

Draco cleared his throat and was about to answer, when he was caught off. "Well, let's be honest, these blood traitors and Mudbloods are quite a disgusting sight to behold. I don't blame you for not wanting to taint the Manor with them." The crowd was completely silent, hanging on his every word.

"Though surely even you can't resist bidding on the item currently up for bid?" Voldemort drawled with feigned interest. Draco couldn't muster up any words in response, his facade was breaking. Keep it together he mentally chastised.

The silence deafened. Finally, locating his voice, "I would love to purchase her my Lord, but I have already received numerous opportunities to punish her while in school." Voldemort remained silent after his declaration clearly waiting for a more detailed explanation. Draco offered another point of contention.

"Also, My Lord, no offense, she's hideous, though I would more than enjoy the chance to belittle her every day and torture her, I can't even bare to look at her."

Voldemort seemed to ponder this for a moment. "True, Draco, true." He let out a big sigh. "She is awfully filthy." Just when Draco was about to exhale the breath he had been holding, The Dark Lord uttered a command that shook Draco to his core.

"Bid." Doom flooded Draco's mind. What game was he playing at? He didn't want to be responsible for punishing Granger or accountable in any way for her. His life was hard enough at the moment. Voldemort's red eyes burned into him; he could almost hear the cruciatus curse rolling off his forked tongue if he should oppose.

"1,000,000 Galleons." Draco spitted out quickly before the Dark Lord could muster an unforgivable.

Tsking the Dark Lord mocked "You can do better than that, Draco. Since the Malfoys' are such loyal followers, I would think they'd want to show their Lord just how far their loyalty extends." Many people in the crowd chuckled at the Dark Lord's retort.

"2,000,000 Galleons." Draco yelled out making eye contact with Granger in the process. He let his trademark smirk slide into place hoping to placate his Lord and evacuate his current predicament as soon as possible. Granger's eyes went wide, and he could see the brim of tears threatening to shatter her resolve.

"Sold!" Lord Voldemort exclaimed much to the chagrin of the other bidders. Digging his talons into Draco's shoulders, the Dark Lord leaned in and with the faintest whisper said, "Good boy." Tensing upon the contact, Draco nodded his head in understanding, hoping to gain some distance from the madman now that he had "won" the last item.

"Ah, ah, before you run over to reap your reward, if you find yourself with lack of imagination regarding the Mudblood's torture, confer with your Aunt, she can always facilitate creativity." Again, Draco nodded his consent and hurriedly left the stage.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. He was now the proud owner of none other than Hermoine Granger, _The_ Mudblood.

.


End file.
